


A Little Bit of Everything

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She went in the pub on a whim, and it was the best decision she'd ever made and ever would. (modern AU in which Morgana is tired of being condescended to and Morgause is the leader of a biker gang. No really.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> No billiard sticks were harmed in the making of this fic. (Or maybe they were, I have no idea how to play billiards and I used up my research token on British motorcycle gangs. How’s _that_ for a brain buster?)
> 
> This fic would not exist without Sarah and Alyssa, you ladies are totally my enablers and I love you a lot. <3
> 
> Thank you VERY MUCH to Annemari who did a lovely little beta job and ilh for it <3

As soon as the door closed behind her with a decisive click, Morgana regretted it. The buzz of conversation cut out abruptly as every eye turned to stare at her. She blushed, knowing her expensive clothes and perfect coif marked her as an outsider.

She almost left then. She could probably catch a cab. She could walk back into the five star hotel with her tail between her legs and listen to Uther and Arthur lecture her about the dangers of a _lady_ wandering about by herself at night. She could do that.

Except, no, she really couldn’t. She had a point to make, and damned if she was going to give any weight at all to theirs. She lifted her chin defiantly and walked over to the bar, ignoring the gazes that tracked her. It probably wouldn’t prove any point to be glad she’d left her bag at the hotel and simply grabbed a few loose notes. Probably.

“What can I get mi’lady?” the barman asked, something sly about his exaggeratedly polite tone.

Morgana gritted her teeth. “I’ll have a pint of the house brew, please.”

His eyebrows met his (receding) hairline, and he chuckled. “Straight away, mi’lady.”

A moment later he sat down a mug and a napkin, and Morgana caught him glancing at her surreptitiously as she took her first sip. It was cool and sharp and bitter. She loved it. “Thank you,” she said with a grin, and took a deeper drink. The barman blinked, and his smile this time was less a leer and more honest amusement.

“Let me know if you need anythin’ else,” he said. “Name’s Ron.”

Morgana toasted him. “Thank you again, Ron.”

Ron wandered away, shaking his head, and Morgana was left to her drink and her thoughts and her previous dissatisfaction. She could not _believe_ Arthur and Uther had let that--that _wanker_ treat her like that! The entire meeting the toad-faced idiot had either ignored her, or asked her to fetch them things, like she was some sort of secretary rather than assistant vice president. She knew all the ins and outs of their company, probably better than Uther himself, certainly better than Arthur, and she’d been relegated to the role of patronised assistant simply because she hadn’t a prick. It was ludicrous. It was infuriating. And, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it _hurt_ , that all her contributions and all her hard work meant nothing against the sexism of some arsehole president of a tiny company that was bankrupt anyway.

They were _all_ of them wankers.

Someone brushed against her, jolting Morgana out of her sulk. She moved her elbow out of the way, “Sorry,” she began, then stopped. A blonde woman was leaning over the bar, gesturing at Ron, and she was dressed head to toe in leather. Ron waved at her and the woman sat back a bit, seeming only then to notice Morgana. She gave Morgana a slow once-over and raised one perfect dark eyebrow, then turned back to the bar.

Morgana would have been insulted by the clear dismissal, but she was far too busy staring. The woman wasn’t classically beautiful; her features were strong and a bit too heavy for that, but she was strikingly gorgeous. There was something about the way she held herself, fluid yet completely contained, that spoke of an ease with herself and her body that Morgana could only ever fail to pretend. It made something twist deep in Morgana’s gut; envy perhaps, lust more likely.

A lock of hair fell over the woman’s shoulder, and she tucked it behind her ear, finally noticing Morgana’s stare. “Something I can help you with?” she asked, a trace of annoyance coloring her tone. Her voice didn’t match her features at all, higher than Morgana had expected. Breathier.

“No!” Morgana said, too loud, and turned back to her drink, a blush suffusing what felt like her entire upper body. A moment later, Ron was back with a tray of drinks and the woman swept away with it, hips swinging to the appreciation of every man in the pub...and Morgana.

“Is she a waitress?” Morgana asked when she’d disappeared into the dimly-lit depths of tables and crowd. There were quite a few people wearing leather, Morgana noticed for the first time.

“Mor _gause_?” Ron said with slack-jawed astonishment, as he set down a second mug for Morgana. Then he dissolved into laughter, while Morgana waited patiently for him to pull himself together. “Oy, Lady, I haven’t laughed like that in weeks.” His eyes were over-bright with something that might have been hysteria, but looked more like schadenfreude. “If you ask her that where I can hear all your drinks are on the house.”

Morgana looked at him flatly.

“Oh fine, ruin my fun.” Ron chuckled once more, then said, “No, no Morgause i’nt a waitress. She’s the road cap’n for the Avalon Kindred.”

Morgana stared at him blankly. “Pardon?”

“The motorcycle gang,” Ron said insistently. Morgana blinked. “Mother of...are you telling me you wandered into the only biker pub in the whole of Wiltshire and _didn’t know it_? That’s some bit of luck, miss,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe it’s fate,” Morgana said lightly, shrugging her shoulders. The alcohol had loosened her up just enough that she felt comfortable taking off her stylish coat and laying it over the stool next to her. Business at the bar was slow and Ron didn’t seem like he had anything pressing to do. “So tell me about--what was it?--the Avalon Kindred?”

“Aye. S’ Morgause’s gang. The lot of big terrifyin’ men led around by that tiny lass, you’d think they weren’t serious. But Morgause is tougher than all of them, and twice as bloody-minded, pardon my language.”

Morgana snorted. “It’s fine. And...Morgause is the road captain?” she asked, testing the name. It sounded exotic, and a little sharp. Like the woman herself, Morgana suspected. It was quite perfect, actually.

“Yup. Leads the lot of ‘em, and they follow her like she’s their pied piper.”

A group wandered in then, and Ron went to take care of them. Morgana considered her half-full mug thoughtfully and snickered. An hour earlier, she’d have said it was was half-empty.

She blamed her unlikely good mood for not noticing him until he was already whispering in her ear, his hot breath smelling of yeast and stale smoke. “‘Ello Princess. Why’s a classy bird like you slumming in a dive like this?”

Morgana jerked away, almost falling from her stool, but a meaty hand caught her around the bicep...and didn’t let go. “Thank you,” Morgana said looking meaningfully at his hand. The man ignored it, so Morgana said, icily, “You can let me go now, I’m fine.”

“I dunno,” the man said with a grin, showing off his yellow teeth. He might have been handsome otherwise, if his face didn’t seem to be frozen in a permanent leer. He was wearing leather like almost everyone else, and he had sandy-blond hair and grey eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to lose your balance again.”

Morgana tried to subtly tug her arm free, but he was strong, and his fingers dug in, making her wince. She was just wondering if she’d have to yell for Ron, when a bored drawl sliced through the noise of the pub.

“Let her go, Benny.”

“Benny” dropped her arm like it was on fire. “I was just having some fun, Mo,” he whined. Morgana pulled her arm to her chest and glared, rubbing the area where she _knew_ she was going to have bruises.

“Too bad,” Morgause said, and slid her arm around Morgana’s shoulders. Morgana tensed, but not with revulsion or anger. Morgause gave her a subtle, almost comforting squeeze. “I saw her first. Now go away.”

Benny scampered off, and Morgana only had a moment to spare to think how odd it was to see a six foot plus grown man scamper, before Morgause released her shoulder, only to grab her hand and tug her deeper into the pub. “Put her drinks on my tab, Ron,” she called over her shoulder, and Ron grunted.

“What--”

“Have you ever played billiards?” Morgause asked over her shoulder.

“Yes, why?”

“Are you any good at it?”

Morgana met her challenging gaze. “Better than them, I’d wager,” she said, nodding at a group nearest them, the players laughing and cheering raucously.

A grin broke over Morgause’s severe features, and Morgana’s breath caught. “Excellent. Play along.”

“What do you louts say to a little wager?” Morgause yelled.

The massive man who looked to be in charge snorted. “Never fancied givin’ my money away, Mo.”

“Not me, Micky-kins, her.” She jabbed her thumb in Morgana’s direction, who stood there wide-eyed. “Never played a game in her life.”

Micky-kins narrowed his eyes, “‘N why’d you make a bet like that? Far as I know, you’re not in the business of charity, either.”

“I’ll be coaching,” Morgause said loftily.

Micky looked Morgana up and down and snickered, then said meaningfully, “You’d have as fair a chance with the Queen herself, you randy devil.”

Morgause examined her fingernails, affecting boredom. “Do you accept my terms or not?”.

The men huddled together for a few moments, while Morgause waited for their verdict impatiently. “What are you _doing_?” Morgana hissed.

“Shh!”

“Alright, Mo,” Micky said loudly. “We’ll take your money. Fifty pounds, first to three hundred.”

Morgause pulled a wad of notes from her indecently tight pants, and threw them down on the table. “Fantastic.”

Which is how Morgana found herself leaning over a billiard table with the long line of Morgause’s body pressed suggestively against hers. She could feel the soft weight of Morgause’s breasts against her back, and her hand resting lightly on Morgana’s hip. “Steady,” Morgause breathed in her ear, and Morgana had to remind herself it was just for show. It didn’t keep her from shuddering. “Aim for that blue one over there, and then...” her hand moved up Morgana’s side, then down her arm to hold Morgana’s hand where it grasped the stick.“Use your elbow and just _jerk_ it a bit.” Morgause demonstrated, and Morgana gasped as the blue ball knocked into a green one and sent it into one of the holes at the edge of the table.

Morgause squeezed her hip once, then let go and stood up. Morgana shivered as the warm air of the bar replaced her heat, and stood up as well.

“I think that means we win,” Morgause said.

Micky grumbled, and eyed Morgana suspiciously. She attempted to look innocent, but her face was obviously flushed and she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off Morgause.

“It’s been a pleasure, boys,” Morgause tossed over her shoulder as she picked up Morgana’s hand and carted her off again.

“I do know how to follow, you know!” she called over the din.

“Yes, but I like touching you!” Morgause called back, and Morgana didn’t actually have anything to say to that.

And when Morgause led her through a door into an empty corridor and pushed her up against a wall she wasn’t surprised. And when Morgause kissed her gently, Morgana wasn’t surprised. Even when Morgause shoved her knee between her thighs, Morgana was not surprised.

And when Morgana twisted and shoved and reversed their positions, slammed Morgause back againnst the wall and crowded up against her, she took great delight in Morgause’s surprise.

“And where did you learn to do that?” Morgause asked breathlessly.

“Aikido,” Morgana said smugly, nuzzling the soft skin under Morgause’s ear, inhaling the sweat-smoke scent of the pub, and something elusive and feminine just underneath. Morgana nipped her there, just enough that she could see a tiny red welt when she moved back.

“Impressive.”

“Thank you.” Morgana answered. “How much time?” she asked, wrestling with the zip on the evil leather pants. Shockingly hot as they looked, they were damned inconvenient for ease of access.

“Ten, maybe twenty minutes.” Morgause seemed to catch the urgency, trying to untuck Morgana’s blouse from her trousers.

Morgana smiled her own shark smile, the one anyone who met her over a board table learned to fear. “I’ll make you come in three.” Then she jerked the pants open and plunged her hand inside and Morgause strangled out a whine, high and needy, when Morgana unerringly found her clit. She threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and Morgana kissed her, something huge and glad unfurling in her chest as Morgause kissed back, desperately.

It was a tight fit, there wasn’t much room in Morgause’s pants to move, but Morgana had worked with far less; she alternated light pressure with hard, and when Morgause was panting into her mouth, practically dripping into Morgana’s hand, slick (so slick, God she needed a bed), she shifted her arm just far enough to slide two fingers back and inside her and Morgause moaned low, mouth right next to Morgana’s ear, and her hands flew up to curl around Morgana’s shoulders.

Morgana’s own body throbbed with the sound, her own knickers becoming uncomfortably wet. Carefully, she moved her thumb up, up, until she found the sensitive nub and Morgause’s breath hitched, and pressed up into it, keeping up a firm massage, giving no quarter until Morgause went up on her toes and arched, mouth wide on a soundless cry and came, shuddering.

She fell back against the wall, eyes heavy lidded and satisfied, and Morgana pulled her hand out slowly. She brought it up to her mouth and licked delicately, holding Morgause’s gaze all the while. Morgause shuddered again and closed her eyes.

“And I thought you were a repressed, spoilt little rich girl who’d never even dreamed of fucking a girl,” she said, sounding a little disappointed, a little awestruck.

“I’m full of surprises,” Morgana replied lightly.

“So I see.” Morgause looked at her again, and Morgana couldn’t help shifting. She ached, so turned on her legs were beginning to wobble. Morgause looking so fetchingly wrecked, sagging against the wall with her leather vest rucked up over her belly, and her pants hanging low on her hips and showing just a shadow of dark blonde.

Morgana realized she was staring, and looked back up, right at Morgause’s curled, swollen-red lips. “I don’t even know your name.” she said suddenly.

Morgana startled, realizing it was true. She’d never asked and Morgana hadn’t offered, and she felt unforgivably rude. “It’s Morgana,” she said.

“Not that I’m against mind-blowing anonymous sex, you understand,” she added, too quickly.

“Of course,” Morgana murmured, not believing for a second that that was more than a half truth. Obviously she wasn’t against it, but it was just as obvious that it wasn’t a habit either. Morgana’s hands itched with the urge to touch the defiant tilt of Morgause’s chin, her soft throat, her breasts that Morgana just knew would be perfect, beautiful handfuls. And she was staring again. She looked up with an effort, wondering if her cut of the money they’d won would cover a room for the night.

“I have a room upstairs,” Morgause said.

Morgana startled, wondering if Morgause was a mind reader, then registering the entire sentence. “Pardon?”

“I wasn’t planning on,” Morgause waved idly, indicating the entire episode (five minutes, Morgana noted on her watch with satisfaction. They’d been done at least two), “this. Here, I mean. I have a room upstairs when I’m in town. Do you want to--”

“God yes.” Morgana breathed fervently, and snatched her hand. “Please, do lead the way.”

Morgause grinned and obeyed.

***

That the pub looked different in the daylight was the first thing that came to Morgana’s mind as they exited the corridor into the main barroom. Then again, she thought wryly, so did she. Her hair was loose, her clothes wrinkled, and she had a livid hickey just higher than her primly proper shirt could cover.

Ron was sitting at one of the tables with a muffin and the newspaper. His eyebrows went up when he saw Morgana, and she shifted uncomfortably.

“Thought you’d left without your fancy coat,” he said, loud in the silence and Morgana jumped. “Turned on your phone to try to find out who you were,” he hesitated. “Might want to call some people back,” he finally settled on, diplomatically. Morgana took this to mean she had approximately five thousand missed calls and texts from Uther and Arthur. At least she’d put her foot down when they’d wanted the tracking information for her GPS, or last night could have been far worse.

Her eyes found Morgause who had snatched Ron’s muffin and was holding it away from him, laughing.

Far _far_ worse, she amended, smiling fondly.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, honest regret coloring her words. “My family is probably worried sick. I only meant to teach them a lesson, not give them all premature heart conditions.”

Morgause tossed the muffin back, and Ron muttered. “I’ll walk you out,” she said cheerfully.

Morgana shrugged on her coat. “It’s alright, it’s starting to get a bite in the air and you’re not dressed for it,” she said pointedly. In her opinion, Morgause wasn’t dressed to be outside the bedroom, in men’s boxers and a tiny little camisole that didn’t conceal the love-bites littering her neck and shoulders at _all_.

Morgause rolled her eyes. She snatched Morgana’s phone and typed out her name and a number and saved it, then handed it back. Morgana looked at her curiously. “The number for here?”

“For my mobile. We’re heading out this afternoon. Can’t keep an Avalonian off the road for long,” Morgause joked, but her smile faltered. “We should be back near the end of November, but I wanted...”

Morgana exhaled, that thing in her chest doing that funny little movement again. Morgause had felt it too. A connection, a recognition. _You’re like me_. They were both women living in a man’s world, being the best, the strongest, the least weak. As separate as their worlds were that, at least, was the same.

She smiled. Morgause smiled back. They leaned in for one last lingering kiss at the same time, and then Morgana left, Morgause giving her a little wave, which she returned. She caught a cab and once she was inside, she sent off a quick text to Uther and Arthur. She hesitated a moment, then sent another.

It was hours before she looked again, after the screaming matches, and the slammed doors, and the cold silences, and the apologies (not on her part, _she_ hadn’t done anything wrong). When she did she felt the smile break across her face. Blushing and feeling like a teenager, she saved it and fell backwards onto the colossal hotel bed, both soft and piled high with pillows, and yet still somehow less welcoming than Morgause’s tiny twin bed. She fell asleep like that, phone clutched in her hand.

 _See you in November? -Morgana (9:09 A.M.)_

 _Its a date -Mo (12:31 P.M.)_


End file.
